


Proud

by triforcelegends8



Series: The Meeting Of Sherlock Holmes [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bully, Hate, Homeless Network, Mean, it's not covered, just a bad experience, sort of, think of it as how he starts to think of the homeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8





	Proud

Sherlock Holmes, 16 years old, was walking down the street with his chin high in the air. He just had an argument with is teacher about why the solar system is not important to anyone since the statistics of anyone in his dull class becoming someone who deals with space was extremely unlikely, and them having multiple test on the solar system was severely unneeded. To say he was angry was a serious understatement.

He continued to stomp towards his house and fumed to himself since he wasn’t able to convince his teacher that they shouldn’t have the tests. He was in front of his house and about to open the front door, but was stopped when he felt someone tap his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned around to face the annoyance. It was a boy, no younger than Sherlock, but his clothes and eyes made him look a million times older. He had light brown hair, ragged and torn clothing, and a dirty hand, Sherlock noted with particular disgust.

“What do you want?” Sherlock demanded as he looked the boy up and down with a sickened face.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was wondering if you could help me,” the boy said softly, his voice raspy, probably from dehydration.

“No. Now go away,” Sherlock spat. He swiped off the boy’s hand and turned back around, getting his keys out. He felt the boy’s hand on his shoulder this time and gripping slightly.

“Please, sir. I’ve got no money. All I’m askin’ for is some food,” the boy persisted.

“No. I said go away,” Sherlock growled. “I don’t have anything to spare for you, tramp.”

The boy frowned at being treated in such a way just because he was asking for food. He pressed on, grabbing Sherlock’s shoulder once again and gripping tighter. “I just want food, sir.”

Sherlock scowled and reiterated, “I said _no_. Now, leave me alone.” He turned back around and roughly shrugged his shoulders to get the boy’s nasty hand off of him.

“Sir, I—“

Sherlock whirled on the boy and said menacingly, “Listen you insufferable trash. Why don’t you turn around, walk in the _opposite_ direction of this house, and continue on, and when you reach the edge of this despicable country jump in the ocean, swim as far as you possibly can, and wait there until you slowly rot to death from starvation and disease, you piece of rubbish. If you ever come near me again, I will make sure your life is more of a hell than it already is.” He pointed a finger at the boy and yelled, “Now go!”

The boy’s eyes widened at such a threat and he began to back up slowly, his face twisted in fear from Sherlock’s angry, intimidating words.

Sherlock growled at how slow the boy was leaving and yelled even louder, “Go! Now!! Or you’ll regret ever laying a hand on me!”

The boy turned away from Sherlock and ran as fast as he could from the crazy teen.

Sherlock scowl deepened and he stomped back towards the door and forced it open, seething the whole time. When he entered the door, he frowned, immediately regretting doing that to the boy. He felt awful. It was a waste of his time and now he would probably call police now and get him arrested on a threat charge. He sighed and jumped when he head clapping coming from the left side of the door, where the coats were hung. Sherlock glanced to his left and saw his father with a proud smile on his face and his hands lowering to his sides.

“You did the right thing, William. You shouldn’t let people touch you, especially pathetic pieces of trash like that one,” his father said nodding. He came over, laid arm across Sherlock’s shoulders, and pulled him in close. “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” he praised.

Sherlock stared at his father for a few seconds before shrugging his arm off of his shoulders and headed for the stairs while mumbling, “He didn’t deserve that.”

His father either didn’t hear his son or didn’t care enough to listen. “Keep that up, William, and we’ll stop sending you to that private school you hate so much,” Sherlock’s father bribed jokingly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs, wearing a frown the whole way. “I have homework to do. Don’t bother me,” he announced before disappearing up the stairs and into his room for the night. He didn’t work on homework, but instead laid on his bed for the whole night thinking about his extreme rudeness to the innocent boy.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sherlock got up from his bed, took a quick shower, and went downstairs to watch the morning news for any cases that might possibly interest him. When he clicked the remote to the telly, he immediately regretted everything he said to the boy.

The news caster was speaking about an unidentified boy that was found dead by a dumpster between Baker Street and Melcombe.

_“Now for more news on the teenage homeless boy, Matthew Hayden, who was hit by a car last night as he was running across the street. No one has claimed to be a family or friend of the teen, yet his death is causing quite a stir. Police are investigating for the man who committed the hit and run. There are no leads so far, but some suggest it was an angry citizen who purposefully ran the boy over. This wouldn’t be the first crime committed against the homeless. Now onto this morning’s weather…”_


End file.
